Cold Turkey
by Sapphire1112
Summary: Based on the current series - after Dylan and Sam argued about his secret alcoholism. What if Sam had a secret too? I do not own the characters.
1. Chapter 1

**Dylan**

"Sam still not back?" I question Iain.

He's by no means my favourite person, but he works with her, so I thought he'd be likely to know what's going on.

"No." He informs me civilly – as such is our working 'relationship' – if you can call it that, because, after all, _he did steal my wife._ "She's got a sick note." He adds. "Apparently she's got the flu." It's clear that he doesn't want to converse with me, any more than I do with him. Iain and Sam are friends, but he tends to display a show of slight jealousy to me if he's seen any interaction between Sam and I – for she's always made it quite clear that she's not interested in being more than friends with him – and that their 'affair' was never about him. Nevertheless, we _are_ on the same page with our concern for her.

Yes – I am very concerned by her absence. Iain tells me she's been signed off for two weeks.

Before she went, Sam had just found out that I am a recovering alcoholic and we had a slightly heated argument as a result. She was distressed to learn that I'd been secretly battling such demons all the while we were together - and she felt that our whole marriage was based on a lie.

" _Sam said she let you down_." Iain informs me before I leave the Ambulance station.

I understand why she had the affair now. Sam was lonely – even when I was with her in a physical sense, I wasn't there emotionally. I was pre-occupied by my own problems and I can see that now, so maybe there was something in what she said about our marriage being a lie.

Sam didn't let me down – I wrongly chose to hide it from her. However, our latest argument (for there have been many over the years) has reaffirmed what I have always hoped to be true.

It was _me_ she wanted – _me_ she loved. At least until our marriage ended and Tom came along.

Although she remains friends with Iain, Sam was looking for comfort and company when she had the affair. She was never in love with him – a fact he's obviously aware of, and maybe that's the reason behind his afore-mentioned jealousy. Of course, the big questions on my mind are...

 _Did Sam still love me when she ended our marriage?...or...Had she already stopped? If the answer is the former – why did she end it?_

These questions go around my head daily - on a loop, but they'll have to wait.

Anyway, at the end of our argument, Sam stormed out my office and we haven't spoken since – we haven't had the chance. After that Sam had a couple of days off between shifts and she was back on Monday. I worked the night shift on Sunday, so I wasn't in that day, but by all accounts, she looked awful – and before the end of the shift she'd been sent home too poorly to work. That was three days ago – and if she's been signed off by the doctor for two weeks, it sounds _bad_.

To say I'm worried, would be putting it mildly.

With Iain just as in the dark as I am, I decide that I will pop over to Sam's on my way home – so that I can find out exactly what is wrong with her...

I stand and wait, after ringing the bell to her flat. It takes her a while to answer.

"Ye-s-s?" It sounds nervous and hesitant – not like Sam at all. But it must be Sam – this is her flat.

"Hi..." I begin. "It's-"

" _Dylan._ " She finishes. "Come up – door's open."

When the buzzer clicks, I step over the threshold and make for the stairs. Upon reaching her flat, I find that the door is indeed open. I hesitate for a second – her voice was unrecognisable on the phone, so I can tell that something is very wrong and I'm a little apprehensive of what I might find.

I am now pretty sure, you see, that whatever is wrong with Sam, it's _not_ flu as Iain has been told. If it was, she would not have offered me an invitation into her flat. Flu is very contagious and Sam certainly wouldn't allow me or anyone else to risk their health. Besides, I'm pretty sure that she had her flu jab like the rest of us. It's a matter of our own safety, in the environment we all work in – we are, after all, exposed to plenty of germs every day.

I sigh and push the door open further to admit myself, before shutting it behind me. "Sam?"

" _In here._ " The answer is muted and again, not the voice I am accustomed to.

I follow the strange voice to the living room, and as I round the sofa, I see her frame lying on it. She's shaking and sweaty, but is wrapped in a thin blanket and seems unsure of whether she's hot or cold.

"Sam, you look-" I say, sitting down on the sofa next to her.

She cuts me off and finishes my sentence again. " _Terrible_ – I know." She agrees.

"I'll-I'll get you... _something_." I stammer, getting up.

She puts out a clammy hand to stop me. " _No!_ " She snaps sharply, though when I react as if I've been slapped, she apologises immediately. "Sorry – I didn't mean to shout." She whispers croakily, grasping my hand as if she's afraid that I'm going to walk out.

"It's ok." I answer, sitting back down. "Sam, I know it's not the flu."

"Oh."

She doesn't offer anything else, so I continue – explaining my deductions. "You've had your flu jab." I point out. "And you let me in." I reason. "Because, regardless of the jab, if you even suspected that you had something contagious, you would have told me to go away."

Again Sam doesn't answer – she just lies there shivering uncontrollably.

I feel her head – and her cheeks. "You're in _withdrawal_." I conclude.

 **Sam**

I close my eyes. I _love_ his touch. And all this – the cold sweats, the shaking, the cramps, the nausea – it's all worth it. Even if I never feel his touch again after this – even though this whole thing is painful and horrible. I'll savour this moment forever.

"Yes-" I confirm his conclusion, but then I'm racked by a cramp. " _Argh!_ " They've been happening off and on. My stomach starts cramping and then after awhile it dies off again. " _Argh!_ " They're bloody horrendous while they last though.

"Shh-shh." Dylan soothes me. He puts his hand over my stomach and rubs it gently – the way he used to when I had a bad period pain. This time though, the cramps are a bit higher. "What are you in withdrawal from?" He asks.

"Pain-killers." I gasp. " _Argh!_ With-draw-ral from pain-killers."

"Shh-shh." He repeats. "Breathe through it." He adds – as though I'm having a baby.

I gasp again as the current ripple of cramps die down. "You're sorting yourself out, Dylan. I thought I should to."


	2. Chapter 2

**Dylan**

"So you went 'cold turkey'." I remark dryly – as is my way. "Since when?"

"Some-time on Sun-day." She mutters, sounding weak and tired. "I thought, I could just carry on as normal at work – and that would help, but I felt so rough, and it's the temptation as well." She adds.

 _Temptation_. I know something about that. Not a day goes by when I'm not tempted to reach for a drink.

"I threw all my painkillers _here_ away." She explains. "But as soon as I went back to work, I knew that I would find a way to get a hold of what I needed if I was there."

She doubles up again and I rub her cramping muscles. "Shh-shh."

"Thanks." She mumbles when they die down again.

" _Why didn't you tell me?_ " I ask – upset that she's been struggling on her own with this. I want to ask how long she's been involved in this battle – and how it started, but personal experience has taught me that it would not be helpful – if anything, at the moment, those questions will make her feel worse.

"You didn't tell _me_ either." She retorts without hesitation.

"Yes. Ok – you've got a point." I agree with a sigh. "But I wish I had told you now – then our marriage might have stood a chance." Maybe if she had known why I was so 'shut off', she wouldn't have had the affair in the first place. However, any response to my latter comment appears to elude Sam.

"Besides..." She continues. "I'm not _your_ responsibility any more."

"Tom?" I venture – though I wish I hadn't when she flinches at the mention of his name. Obviously, 'Tom' is a painful subject.

"Divorced." She answers, "So technically, I'm not _his_ responsibility either – _not that I want to be_." She adds, almost under her breath.

The last bit intrigues me. But for now, I choose to pretend not to hear it. Any questions regarding Sam's divorce from Tom are not my business – and are not timely in these circumstances anyway.

"Maybe..." I start hesitantly in my gruff voice. Apparently, I'm nervous. It's just Sam, and she used to be my wife – _why am I nervous?_ I take a deep breath. "Maybe, I want you to be my responsibility."

Sam doesn't answer, but she seems surprisingly nervous too. My declaration appears to be unexpected. However, I find myself desperate for her to allow me to indulge my re-ignited need to care for her. "I know you want to do this yourself," (She's the most independent woman I've ever met and she's never been good at asking for help - even when I was mentoring her at college.) "but you need looking after, Sam." I tell her firmly. "Remember, I'm a doctor too, so please let me look after you."

She gives me a weak smile. "I'm _not_ a doctor any more, Dylan."

"You might not be working as a doctor, Sam," I counter. "...but no one can take away everything you learnt – so as far as I'm concerned, you're _still_ a doctor – and I intend to refer to you as one." I insist gruffly.

At that moment, Sam is tormented by more cramps, and once they're over, she agrees to my proposition without too much of a fight – though at this point, it's possible that she's just feeling too tired and rough to argue.

"I'll go and put some things in a bag for you, ok?" I suggest. "Then if you feel up to it, we can go out to my car and I'll take you back."

I get up to leave but she suddenly grabs my hand again. " _Dylan, don't let me relapse_." She begs, seemingly needing to know that we are on the same page with this.

I squeeze her hand reassuringly. "Of course, I won't. I'll be in the other room – just shout if you need anything."

I head into her bedroom, retrieve a bag from her cupboard and start to fill it with what I think she will need. I decide to empty her night-dress drawer. I intend to make her stay in bed for a while – and with the cold sweats, she may want to change regularly. What with work and bad weather, I have limited opportunities to do a wash on my boat and I want her to have plenty of night-dresses at her disposal – so I pack all five.

I'm about to close the bag and go back to Sam, when I notice a very familiar little jewellery box on her bedside table. The box is quite faded now – as if it's seen more than it's fair share of daylight. My breath catches in my throat as I go over to pick it up - and I open it with a breathless kind of wonder. I pick up one of the two rings in the box.

 _'To Sam, with all my heart – always and forever.'_ the inscription reads.

As I suspected – or rather _hoped_ , the box contains the engagement ring – and the wedding ring that I gave her.

The inscription on my _own_ wedding ring at home says: ' _To Dylan, my soul mate – always and forever_.'

 _I know it by heart._

Although I'm very worried about the state I've found Sam in, this makes my heart sing the way it hasn't done for years. She had no reason to keep her rings – though admittedly, I still have my wedding ring too – but since we got divorced, Sam has been married and divorced again. I swallow. It never occurred to me that she would of _kept_ the rings I gave her – and more to the point, she's been keeping them close by, on her bedside table, which suggests that they are still important to her. On the other hand, there's no sign of the rings that Tom gave her. I close the box and drop it into the bag. They're obviously important to her, so it seems the natural thing to do.

Sam suddenly cries out again from the other room. I quickly zip the bag shut and rush back to her side, dropping the bag to the floor and perching back on the edge of the sofa. She's doubled up again.

"Another cramp?" I ask.

"Urgh-yeah." She groans. I hate seeing her in so much discomfort. "Pain comes in waves." She mutters when the cramping refrains for the time being. "Sometimes they're frequent – and sometimes I don't get any for a while."

I help Sam to her feet and drop her phone into her handbag. I put both her handbag and the other bag over my shoulder and support her to the door, checking that I've locked her flat properly after we leave it. Sam is bent over and weak – and leans heavily on me.

"Just tell me if you need to stop." I instruct her as we head for the lift this time.

" _Why – are you going to try and carry me?_ " She muses.

 **Sam**

I'm just teasing him because he looks _so_ worried. Despite feeling so rough, I want to provide Dylan with some kind of reassurance – to lighten the atmosphere - and to ease the torment I'm clearly putting him through by discovering me in this state.

I had _intended_ to 'hide out' until it was over – for however long that took, under the guise of having flu, but yet again I over-estimated my own strength and ability to deal with something like this. It was a _weakness_ on my part – and perhaps selfish, but when I heard his voice, I wanted his comfort so badly and I couldn't bring myself to send him away. I tried to stay and open the door so he didn't get too much of a shock when he saw me, but I've been so nauseous all day that I've been unable to eat, so my legs wouldn't hold me up properly and I had to lie down again.

If I'm honest,the reassurance is also for me – to convince myself that this is all going to turn out ok, but it's mostly for Dylan's sake. _He's the one who matters the most._

He looks solemnly at me as the lift starts going down. "I'll carry you if you can't walk any more."

Bless him. He might seem miserable and grumpy to everyone else – and indeed, 'Grumpy' has always been my affectionate pet name for him, but he's the most protective and caring man I've ever met. He's good at hiding it, but really he's a sweetie – he even insisted on 'carrying me over the threshold' when we got married – I wonder how many men actually do that!

 **Dylan**

She gives me a weak, but grateful smile. "I'm sure I can manage, Grumpy." She answers with obvious fondness – though she still leans against me quite heavily as we leave the lift and head for my car.

As we reach it, she doubles up again and her ankles almost give way as the cramps overwhelm her. I hold onto her tightly, propping her hunched-up form against me with one arm and rubbing her muscles again with my other hand.

"Sssh-sssh. Ok, shhh." I whisper to calm her. "Better?" I ask, when I feel her start to relax again.

"Yeah, thanks." She mutters as I help her into my car.

It's only a short journey to where my boat is moored, but Sam is weak and exhausted, so the car lulls her into an agitated sleep. I consider whether to attempt to carry her to my boat rather than waking her up, but decide that in her current state it may panic her if she suddenly wakes up before we get there. I go around to her side of the car and open the door.

" _Sam? Sam? Come on sweetie we're here._ "

"Huh?" She mutters opening her eyes and looking at me blearily. "Oh, I must have fallen asleep – sorry." she mumbles.

"It's ok. Do you want me to carry you?" I offer again, hoping she might take me up on it this time. I just want to get her back as quickly as possible.

"No, I can manage, thank you." She answers.

"Ok, it's not far." I tell her.

Dervla is pleased to see us and is quite ready to be let out. I open the door and she bounds up to us barking.

"Ssssh, Dervla – quiet. You can go out for a bit." I instruct her. I will take her for a walk late, but for now Sam requires my full attention.

"Dylan, just chuck me on the sofa." She complains as I take her into my room to settle her. "I can't take your bed!"

I sigh. "Sam, you need rest in a _proper_ bed. If it bothers you, I will make up the spare bed for me later."

"No, that's not what I mean, Grumpy." She says. "I can't imagine it's very nice sharing a bed with someone in withdrawal. You don't have to put up with it." She explains drawing her knees up to her chin and wincing in discomfort.

" _In sickness and in health_." I answer, reminding her of the vows we once took. "I said I wanted to look after you – _so let me_ , ok?"

She stops resisting and allows me to help her change into her night-dress – until I try to take her socks off.

" _No, don't – please._ " She snaps drawing away from me.

I react like I've been stung – and then I remember her reaction when I mentioned Tom. Did something awful happen with Tom? Surely she doesn't think I'm going to... _do_ anything?

She sees my face and touches my hand lightly. "Sorry, I didn't mean to snap. It's not what you think – and I'm _not_ scared of you, ok? I just didn't want you to get a shock when you saw my foot." She explains.

"Ok." I nod. She nervously lets me remove her socks and all becomes clear.

The little toe on her left foot is missing.

I help her into bed. "You can tell me _if_ – and _when_ you want to, ok?" I'm not going to put any pressure on her.

"Thank you, Dylan." She whispers, obviously grateful that I'm not demanding an explanation. . "I _will_ tell you – I'm just a bit tired at the minute."

"Ok." I agree. "Try and get some rest. I'm going to take Dervla out, and when I come back, we'll see if you can manage some soup, ok? I'll just get you a glass of water. Do you need anything else?"

"No, thank you – a glass of water would be nice though."

I go and get her a glass of water and an empty bowl. "Just in case." I tell her. "You don't want to be rushing to the loo if you feel sick. I've got my mobile if you need me."

"Thank you Grumpy." She murmurs from under the duvet.

I leave with Dervla – who had already come back in the boat and was waiting patiently, curled up on the sofa.

I can't tell you the things that go through my head.

My immediate thought when I saw her missing toe was: has that got anything to do with the painkiller addiction?

 _What could possibly have happened - and taking into account her earlier reaction – did it have anything to do with Tom?_


	3. Chapter 3

**Sam**

I wake with a start, panicking because I suddenly feeling so hot. I toss the duvet off and immediately throw up in the bowl next to my bed. Dylan is next to me in seconds – having just arrived back. He hasn't even had time to take his coat off.

It's not the first time it's happened, but I'm so grateful not to have to rush to the toilet – worrying that I'm not going to make it in time. It never occurred to me to have a bowl next to me when I was at home.

Dylan thinks of everything.

 **Dylan**

"Alright, alright." I whisper soothingly – rubbing her back gently. "Finished?"

"Yeah." I wipe her mouth with a tissue and she collapses against me. "Thanks." She mutters. "It's a horrible cycle. First I'm cold, so I wrap up, then I fall asleep and have awful dreams. Then I wake suddenly – far too hot and throw up."

"It'll get better, I promise." I reassure her. "How do you feel now?"

"A bit better a the moment, thanks."

"I get you another glass of water." I tell her and go back into the kitchen with the glass. Poor Dervla is sat there as patient as ever – still with her lead on. I was in such a hurry when I got back and heard Sam being sick. I take my coat off, remove Dervla's lead and put her a fresh bowl of food down – which she eats hungrily. I fill a fresh glass of water and pat her head. "Good girl, Dervla."

Sam is lying down under the duvet again when I go back in but she looks much more comfortable. "Thank you, Grumpy." She whispers shuffling into a sitting position and taking the glass off me. "I really appreciate you looking after me Dylan – you don't have to."

"Your welcome." I answer, sitting on the bed next to her. "I want to look after you. I take it you don't want anything to eat at the moment?"

"No, thank you – but I would like to talk." She suggests hopefully.

"I'd like that too – if you're not to tired?" I add, wanting to make sure she doesn't feel under any pressure to tell me, despite being desperate to know everything.

She suddenly glances at the bedside table and seems a bit flustered – as though she's forgotten to do something important.

"Hey-sssh." I say soothingly. "What's the matter."

"M-my rings." she stammers hesitantly.

"The box on your bedside table?" I ask – for the moment opting not to admit to opening the box. "It seemed important to you, so I put it in the bag." I lean over and pick the bag up, taking out the box and handing it to her.

"Oh – thank you. I just didn't want them to get stolen if someone broke into my flat." She mumbles, placing it on the bedside table next to her. "Ok. Um, where to start?" She mutters.

"Were the painkillers for your toe?" I blurt out before I can stop myself.

"No." She answers. "I had a shoulder injury – that's when I was given the painkillers. Things weren't good with Tom and I didn't want to be at home – so I went back to work too early. The painkillers allowed me to do that." She explains and pauses before continuing. "When you left Holby, things weren't good with Tom then. He said there were too many memories, so we left Holby to. A fresh start he said. somewhere completely new, but it didn't get any better. We just argued all the time and we weren't happy. One morning, we had a massive row and it all came out. He said that he was sick of me looking disappointed every time he walked in – because he wasn't you." She looks away. " 'I'll never be as good as your precious Dylan'!" He said. Anyway..." She continues. "When we were at work, we'd both calmed down and we agreed that we would have a quiet evening in to talk about it – like sensible grown ups." She laughs bitterly. "It was meant to be Tom's night for doing the dinner – but he didn't come back, so I made his favourite – roast dinner as an olive branch." She suddenly winces as a cramps on.

"Sssh-sssh." I whisper, leaning over to offer my comfort. She accepts it gratefully.

"Thanks." She says when they're over.

"Do you need anything?" I ask – ignoring my own need for her to finish what she's telling me.

"No, thank you – I'd rather carry on talking." She admits and takes a deep breath. "When Tom came back, he was so drunk. I'd been waiting like we agreed and he'd gone cavorting with the lads instead. Anyway, I was stood chopping the vegetables when he staggered in, sniggering and slurring his words." She shakes her head sadly. "Basically, we had another massive row – which turned physical. I don't remember much about it, but we were both wrestling on the floor and the vegetables were scattered everywhere – and the knife..." She trails off and shudders. "Anyway, at some point I yelled that he was meant to be doing the dinner and he was so angry that he tried to chop a carrot on the floor next to me. It was an accident..." She hesitates. "But he was so drunk and his co-ordination was completely off."

I hold my breath in horror at what I suspect is coming next.

"He brought the knife down with such force to make a point – but it wasn't the carrot he chopped. My little toe shot off and there was blood everywhere. That sobered him up pretty quickly. Tom stayed behind to try and find my toe while I went to hospital. Though he was still pretty drunk and I'm not sure if he knew what was happening."

"He didn't find it?"

"He did." She admits. "Eventually. It was under one of the units. By the time he found it, it was too far gone." She shrugs. "While I was waiting to be seen properly – after they'd initially taken me in, I was in the corridor, and there was this really poorly lady. She was just dumped on a trolley in the corridor because there weren't enough beds. The hospital was in chaos and I couldn't get anyone to help her. I wasn't in a position to do so myself and she died – right in front of me."

"That's why you whistle-blew?" I remark.

She nods. "I was _so_ angry."

"What about Tom?" I question.

She sighs. "The police were called because it was a domestic incident, but I told them that I didn't know who had the knife when my toe got cut off. I was using it before him so it would have had both our fingerprints on it anyway."

"Why did you tell them that though?" I ask, incredulously – still sickened by the accident.

"Tom's a good doctor, Dylan." She says softly. "He might have lost his job and he would have got a criminal record at the very least. It was an accident." She insists. "An awful accident. Besides..." She adds. "I lost my job and my toe – isn't that enough?"

"Is that why you got divorced?"

She nods again. "I think it was over before that night anyway – but Tom was so devastated every time he saw my missing toe. He repeatedly threw up, that night once he'd sobered up and realised what had happened. There are some things you just can't get past." She admits.

That's very true. It makes me feel so sick when I think of how much I was drinking when we were married. Tom got filthy drunk once and caused an accident that physically hurt Sam. I'm not sure I'll ever be able to touch alcohol again with her around – but that in itself is a good thing.

"I moved away and trained as a paramedic." She finishes. "And they posted me back to Holby – but I never stopped taking the pain-killers after the shoulder injury and everything else that happened just encouraged me to keep taking them. It was something I could control." She explains. "Or so I thought - I don't think I realised how reliant I was on them until I found out about your alcoholism. That's when I realised that the painkillers were controlling me." She admits. "Up till then, I kept telling myself that I needed them for the pain – but there hasn't been any pain for a long time."

"That's what I used to think about the alcohol." I agree. I hesitate. "I know I wasn't very nice to you when I was drinking – but did I ever... _you know_." I can't bring myself to say the words and I can't imagine how Tom feels knowing he cut her toe off – even if it was an accident. If I did anything – anything at all to her-

"No Dylan." She says. "You shouted sometimes, but nothing else – and I've always felt safer with you then _anywhere else._ " She adds, leaning her head against me. "You're my safe haven, Grumpy.".

It makes me so happy to hear her say that.


End file.
